


First impressions are so important.

by ChangeableConsistency



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Always a girl!Kirk, Anal Play, BDSM, F/F, F/M, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Universe, Multi, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/ChangeableConsistency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The part of my Black Holes and Revelations series. I am hoping to come up with a better (or at least less overdone) title for the series.</p>
<p>This is an intro piece to my version of a Reboot!Mirrorverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Taste of My Will

**Author's Note:**

> My warnings are probably all off, though my tenses probably moreso.
> 
> The storyboard in my head got pretty dark pretty quickly. My brain is known for messing with me, so I am not sure how this will twist and turn; or what may lie at the end.
> 
> That being said I have a definite idea of where I want to go and at least a couple stops along the way. If there are any sights, scenic routes, or detours that catch your interest let me know and I will try to take us there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy gets a taste of what it will be like under his new Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask; yes, I am filled with shame over the puns in the summary. I... I really have no excuse.
> 
> Chapter title from Poe's Junkie (off of Hello). This story is influenced by both her albums and I highly recommend them.

James grips the edge of the biobed, leaning back and squeezing her knees sound the ears of her new CMO as she shudders through her fourth orgasm.

A languid warmth fills her and she relaxes her knees, spreading them obscenely wide. She smirks down at McCoy thinking, if nothing else, he certainly knows his anatomy. She chuckles softly, at least the important bits.

McCoy quirks an eyebrow at her, his jaw clenched as tightly as the fists he's kept at his sides, "Will that be all, Captain?" he snarls.

Oh! He will be a fun one to break. "For now," she says in a sultry tone. She has to get back to inspecting her new command, the Enterprise. She even -thinks- the name with reverence.

And McCoy will need to get back to work cleaning up the results of those inspections. Cupcake will be out of the booth soon and if there is anything left, she'd like the good (very good her mind supplies) Doctor to have him back to his post as soon as possible.

On the other hand, she really likes the way McCoy looks with her cum dripping down his face. She hops off the 'bed straightening her gold skirt and sleeves, briefly caressing the fourth golden stripe. She grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him up until he's standing at attention, fists still balled uselessly by his thighs and she has to stretch to the tip of her toes to lick his cheek.

"My quarters, 19:00. And McCoy?" her lips brush his ear as she pulls his head down to whisper darkly, "Don't wash your face before then. I'd better be able to still taste myself on your lips."


	2. Damn it, I'm a Doctor...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy knew he was in trouble as soon as his new Captain walked through the door.
> 
> Definite consent issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, constructive criticism welcomed. Positive feedback adored.
> 
> Apologies for what are bound to be tense errors.

He was still fuming by the end of his shift. He had finally had his department in order; the jockeying for position, blackmail and sometimes literal backstabbing had been at a minimum for the last few cycles. He and Chapel had come to an understanding; she had accepted that he wasn't going to rape her, though she didn't understand it, and she had stopped trying to poison him at every opportunity. 

When their new Captain had announced she was going to complete a full readiness inspection as soon as she came aboard, his staff had started to panic and he felt a pit of ice start to form in his stomach. Full inspections had been known to decimate a crew that was unprepared, or whose captain was capriciously cruel. 

None of the intel he had been able to gather on Kirk had indicated that she was any more sadistic than most, and she /had/ given Spock the order 24 hours before the Yorktown was due to dock with the Enterprise. 

That thought let him focus on getting the Med Bay prepared, with special attention on the nerve regenerators. At least one of the senior staff would try to assassinate their way to a promotion and if any of the survivors were allowed to live the booths would be running at full capacity. 

Kirk herself had been awarded the Enterprise for taking down Captain Pike. Rumor had it that the Emperor himself sponsored the attempt against her Patron, and her price was the Enterprise. The whisperstream also held that Commander One, Pike's Woman and second in command, was involved and was to be promoted from Acting Captain to Captain of the Yorktown as her reward. While the bloodthirstiness of the whole ordeal turned his stomach, it did give him faint hope that at least Kirk knew how to recognize an ally.

The casualties had actually been relatively light and McCoy had a brief thought between setting a broken arm and reattaching a severed ear that his new Captain might actually have some common sense. 

Then that fool Sulu had made a play through Lieutenant Mathews; untraceable though it was, everyone on the ship knew Mathews wouldn't have had the balls for the attempt if Sulu hadn't been dangling Chekov in front of him like a plump cherry. Which just proved what an idiot Mathews was; even if Chekov decided not to cut Matthews open like a psychotic monkey with an overripe melon and a seemingly endless supply of knives, Sulu would never let anyone else touch the kid. No, Sulu had figured on getting rid of Matthews' dead weight without inciting retaliation from his family; and if by some impossible miracle he had pulled it off, Sulu would have certainly been in a position to neutralize Commander Spock in a bid for the Enterprise. Christ, Imperial politics gave him a headache.

Captain Kirk had come to the med bay with specific instructions on Matthews "recovery" and that's when the real trouble started. Her bottomless blue eyes lasered in on Chapel and a cruel smile curled her full lips. He hadn't spent all that time building an alliance with Christine just to lose her to Kirk as Captain's Woman. Cursing his protective instincts he stepped between his head nurse and the woman looking at her like a lioness that stumbled across an injured gazelle.

He scowled as he drawled, "Captain, I hope you're not one of those damned fools that won't let their /Chief Medical Officer/ run Med Bay?"

Blue eyes locked onto hazel and then swept slowly down his body, pausing at his flushed neck, then his nipples as they noticeably tightened with fear and adrenaline beneath his lightweight blue scrubs, to focus for an insultingly long time on his dick. 

"Well now, that depends on how well my Chief Medical Officer can follow orders," she purred. 

His abs clenched along with is jaw and fists as she sauntered slowly towards him. He was surprised at how intimidating the small woman could be. Kirk barely reached his shoulder and her pixie hair cut, all tumbled strawberry blond curls, should have made her seem waif-like. Instead, he found himself trembling and hoped to God and Georgia that he would be able to keep from whimpering in front of his staff.

"On your knees, Doctor."

He took a deep breath and sank gracefully to his knees. It'd been years since he'd let himself get into this position, both physically and metaphorically, but his Academy training held true.

Her eyes sparkled, "It's almost as if you didn't have any bones," she smirked, "For a moment I thought maybe you were lacking any manners or formal training."

With that she hopped up on the nearest biobed, hitching her skirt up and resting her hand on the hilt of her dagger. "Let's put that sharp tongue to use before I decide to cut it out."

The Med Bay was silent except for his breathing, all eyes on Dr. McCoy and Captain Kirk. At least she appears to have forgotten about Christine, he thought.

He shifted slightly, watching for cues that he would be allowed to stand and walk to her; maybe she enjoyed putting him on his knees enough to watch him do it again, saving him the humiliation of having to crawl to her.

She crooked her finger,"Get over here Doctor, my pussy's not going to eat itself. You may use your hands to crawl if you need to," the gleam in her eyes told him how much she would enjoy that, "But then hands to your sides. Your mouth got you into this, we'll see if it can get you out of it."

He growled in the back of his throat and shuffled over on his knees, fists knotted at his thighs, refusing her in the only small way he could.

As he moved closer she lowered the 'bed and he felt a momentary flare of surprise; this would have been so much worse if he had been made to strain his neck and only have the use of the tip of his tongue. In another life he would have found the thought of that a turn on, but Jocelyn had taught him the dangers of letting his dick think for him. He tamped down on the flickers of arousal, swallowing as he blocked the thoughts out of his mind. 

...Oh, God, it wasn't fair for any woman to smell this good, let alone /this/ woman, as she put him in his pla- No! He refused to think that way. His place is in charge of the Enterprise's Med Bay, as lord of that domain. And he /will/ do whatever it takes to keep that domain, and the people within it, safe; come hell, high water, or Captain James Tiberius Kirk.

As he worked his tongue through her slick folds she detailed exactly how much care Lieutenant Matthews would be allowed once out of the agony booth. It helped him keep focus on the task in front of him, listening to the cues in her voice as she detailed how far the nerves could be repaired, her breathing becoming more and more rapid as she focused on how much lasting pain "Cupcake" would go through. He felt a wave of nausea as she came the first and then second time in quick succession; he wasn't sure if it was the thought of what she was going to have him do (or not do) for Matthews, what she was doing to him right now, or the way he sucked her clit. He prayed it was the last and not the first.

After the first two orgasms she leaned back and started to relax and murmur instructions, "Oh, yes. There, right there. Harder. Wetter. Suck me. There. There, there, there, YESSSS!" She shouted through her third orgasm. She fluttered and pulsed around his tongue and he drank her in like a dying man in the desert. 

"Good Boy," she purred, "One more."

He growled as he doubled his efforts, having swiftly learned what set her off the quickest, he used his nose on her clit, then rubbed his stubble-roughened chin against her soaking vagina, followed by licking up between her labia minor in one broad strong stroke before latching onto her swollen clitoris and sucking... sucking... and there was four, he thought with a little pride, which he immediately swallowed down with her essence.  

He sat back on his heels panting. He concentrated on boring medical texts,, what he'd have to put Mathews through, and finally that time 3rd year when Admiral Archer had tortured him so badly he couldn't move for two days. 

Thank God his erection subsided before she got look at him. As it was he had to steel every bone in his body to keep from lowering himself to his elbows and begging for more. Damn it, he's a Doctor, not a collared fucktoy, he thought as he held himself rigid. 

McCoy raised his eyebrow,  his jaw clenched as tightly as the fists he's kept at his sides, "Will that be all, Captain?" he snarled defiantly.

"For now," she said in a voice like fine bourbon..

Suddenly she was standing, and she grabbed the collar of his shirt, roughly pulling him up until he towered over her and then stretching up against his body to lick his cheek.  
   
"My quarters, 19:00. And McCoy?" her lips a hot caress against his ear as she pulled his head down by his short dark hair and whispered, "Don't wash your face before then. I'd better be able to still taste myself on your lips."

***  
That had been hours ago and he was furious now. Not only was it humiliating, but the mask he wore trapped her scent in his nose and he had to fight his fucking hardon the rest of the day. Her scent, and the thought of what was to happen when his shift ended.

Damn James T. Kirk to hell, and damn himself while he was at it. 


	3. Preview: Sulu and Chekov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick snippet to be expanded.

McCoy was giving final instructions to M'benga before going to his room to carefully sonic, change and, in the unlikely event he was able to, take a nap before he had to meet the Captain in her quarters.

He had barely finished detailing out out Matthew's treatment plan when Sulu prowled in; blood dripping down his face and soaking into the blanket in his arms. It only took McCoy a second to realize that most the blood was soaking it from the inside out and another beat to recognize the disheveled mop of curls peeking out one end.

"What in the hell kind of games have you two been up to, Sulu!" McCoy shouted as he hurried to a 'bed. "M'benga, see to his face while I take care of the Ensign."

"No." Sulu said, laying his bundle down and gently unwrapping the naked form.

"What do you mean, No?!"

"Take care of Chekov, Doctor." Sulu replied, ignoring the question.

McCoy ran a tricorder over the carved and broken form. It actually looked worse that it was: a couple of cracked ribs and broken fingers; the cuts were messy, but only skin deep. They covered the boy from neck to ankle. If the designs had been an abstract painting he would have almost called them beautiful.

As he began the regen work, he started to lecture Sulu, "I can handle this; have Dr. M'benga fix that cut before it gets-"

"No." Sulu said again, his voice quiet and deep with rage. "Captain's orders. Leave it to scar."

"Damn it, what the hell happened?"

Sulu crossed his arms, hovering over Chekov silent and still as a statue.

"At least let him bandage it up, you idiot."

McCoy wasn't going to press any further, it was going take all of his concentration to repair the damaged helmsman and get to Kirk's in time for her twice damned deadline.


	4. Lessons Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He figured he'd take a little pain, make the appropriate obeisances and go back to his plotting.
> 
> He was so very wrong.
> 
> The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.  
> -Ernest Hemingway
> 
> pung ghap HoS  
> -Klingon proverb: Mercy or power
> 
> Never was anything great achieved without danger.  
> -Niccolo Machiavelli

Sulu wasn't nervous as he headed to Kirk's quarters.

He knew he was clean. In fact, he had advised Mathews to get a feel for the new order before doing anything rash. Even he had been surprised that the idiot had gone for the new Captain. He had been hoping for a minor cross-department incident, something that would get Mathews reassigned or executed.

This was going to be a run-of-the-mill debrief for when a subordinate's grasp outstretched their reach. He figured he'd take a little pain, make the appropriate obeisances and go back to his plotting.

He was so very wrong.

***

The door chirped as he approached, two heavies standing to either side unmoving and silent. Neither of the guards were his, which was a little unexpected. His newest captain was very lucky or very good, either of which was worrying.

"Lieutenant Sulu reporting." None of his concern showed in his voice.

The door slid open with a quiet swhoosh. He stepped inside and it shut behind him, the click of the magnetic locks unnaturally loud to his ears.

"Have a seat, Mr. Sulu."

He sat calmly in the heavy wooden chair opposite her, the matching oversized desk had been carved from a single piece of Brazilian rosewood; it was an extravagant piece, even for someone with Kirk's reputation for trophies.

She leaned back in her chair as she appraised him coolly, eyes bright blue lasers that burned through the layers of calm he had wrapped about himself.

"How long have you been trying to get rid of Ensign Mathews?"

He had to check himself, that was not what he had been expecting. Mathews' family was more likely to retaliate over the demotion than the excessive booth time. Hell, they'd be less furious over an actual court martial and execution; though she would have had to trump up more serious charges than a botched assassination attempt.

"Captain? You're aware his grandfather is Admiral Banegas?

The hungry expression that curled her lips couldn't exactly be called a smile, but neither was it a sneer.

"I'm quite personally acquainted with him."

So, she didn't just know the Admiral, she was sending him a message; he made a mental note to find out Banegas' reaction to the news. She'd surprised him again, and as he reevaluated her he wondered if there was any way to prevent it from happening in the future.

She was the youngest captain in the Empire's bloody history, and the fact that she had reach the position by going through Christopher Pike, one of its most decorated and dangerous authors, spoke volumes.

"Lieutenant, now that the Enterprise is mine I intend to keep her," there was that feral twist of lips again, her eyes potent discs of mania drawing him in, "And one way or another, everyone on board will learn they belong to me. I'm just getting started; those who prove worthy will be amply rewarded, those who disappoint me..."

At this point he'd be willing to believe she had her sights set on the throne, or God, or some impossibly higher level of power. Hell, he almost believed she could do it.

The reports he'd been able to gather had touched on her official dossier: top of her class in tactics, combat, negotiation; but none of them had truly conveyed her sheer charisma. And while the unofficial reports where rife with tales of her recklessness, there had been few memorable failures. And nothing could have prepared him for the mad feeling that he would follow her into the abyss.

"I look forward to proving my worth, Captain."

"I'm pleased to hear it, Mr. Sulu."

He swallowed as leather lined restraints captured his wrists and ankles, but otherwise remained impassive. They were back on familiar territory. He hadn't been able to confirm her preferences though, and idly wondered if she was going to go with the agonizer, knife or just use her hands. His own preference would be the blade; her combat specialties focused on nerve points, the damage she could do with physical blows would be on par with the agonizer, though it would take longer to get to the same level of pain. Nerve damage was a bitch and half to recover from. The blade could be just as dangerous, but at least he could keep himself amused by critiquing her form, and he might even pick up a few pointers.

She stood and the chair he was confined to swiveled to face the door to her bedroom. He felt a perverse twist of satisfaction as she drew her dagger and examined the edge.

"We'll have to see how well you learn this lesson." The door swooshed open and he bit back a curse as he strained against the bonds. He would recognize the pale freckle dusted flesh anywhere.

"As I was saying, everyone on board this vessel belongs to me. The sooner you accept it, the better. For everyone."

Chekov was stripped and chained facing the far wall, wrists straining overhead, calves trembling as he pressed up on bare toes trying to relieve the pressure, his small frame stretched long and beautiful, muscles taut and trembling.

Sulu would have found it arousing had they been alone in their quarters, as it was nausea twisted through him. He counted back the time, he'd only been here a few minutes, it had taken 10 to get here from the botany lab, and before that...When _had_ he last seen Pavel? 30 minutes? An hour? How long had his boy been hanging there while Kirk had been in the other room interviewing her subordinates?

The thought that she could have, in fact probably _had_ conducted those interviews with the bedroom door open made his heart pound. God damn it, that could have been the reason for the smug smile Ensign McArthur had dared throw him on the way here. He was going to kill the little punk. Slowly. But first he would have to find some way to fuck Kirk over for daring to touch what was his.

She could proselytize all she wanted about owning everyone aboard like so much livestock, and he would mimic the other sheep like a good little peasant, waiting until she exposed herself and then he would strike.

God damn her. No one touched his boy, not if they wanted to keep all their body parts intact. Even April hadn’t been fool enough to cross that line. And now that asshole was off playing Admiral at the Academy and he was left with ten feet of crazy in a five foot package.

"Kirk to Sulu. Come in, Sulu," she tapped his cheek with the flat of the blade. He forced his eyes to her's, unable to keep the growl inside. Her Cupid ’s bow lips quirked in a friendly smile, "welcome back! We missed you.”

The metal against his cheek warmed to his skin as he glared at her.

“Just to be sure the lesson sticks,” she drawled, “I'm gonna let you watch me carve my name into that beautiful canvas.”

"No! Don’t you fucking touch him!”

_'Wait,'_ the part of him that could still reason shouted, _'agree! You'll take him back when the time is right. You idiot! Don't give her this!_

“Don’t be silly. Of course I’ve already fucked him,” she smiled fondly at him, “and I’m gonna to do more than just touch him now.”

He snarled, "You fucking bitch!

"I know this will be hard," she brushed her free hand through his hair, "but I want you to say it. You belong to me as much as the Enterprise does. I own her, I own you, and I own Ensign Chekov. You’re going to accept that anything you covet, everything you crave, and all that you once controlled are now mine. There is nothing you have that I cannot take and no privilege you’ll earn that doesn’t come at my pleasure.”

"Fuck You! Go to hell!"

Pavel shuddered in his bonds, the chains rattling. He rasped, "Please, Sir! Do not make zhis any vorse."

Kirk stepped back and drank in the picture Sulu presented, thick hair disheveled, dark eyes flashing, he struggled against the restraints holding him in place with a guttural scream. He was magnificent.

"The Ferengi have a beautiful language," she said conversationally as she stalked over to Chekov and drew her finger down his spine, gooseflesh rippling across the alabaster display. "Did you know they have over 350 words for property?"

She started at the center of Chekov’s back, working the hexagon pattern first up to the base of his neck. The delicate skin parted smoothly under her blade. Sulu had direct knowledge of just how easy it was to decorate the toned and supple back. He had enough practice with a dermal regenerator he could operate it in his sleep. Chekov moaned low and sweet.

"Get your fucking hands off him!"

"Hmmm, not exactly the words I'm looking for." She continued, branching phrases up his arms, all containing different subtleties of ownership.

Blood welled up in the cuts, painting the words in vivid detail. She was quiet and efficient, never too shallow or too deep. She had spiral down to the small of Pavel's back before she made another sound.

While Chekov whimpered and moaned, Sulu had been screaming bloody murder, going into detail of how he would repay her, how he would fuck her raw, then skin her, then fuck her again.

"You do give a girl such idea's, Mr. Sulu."

"Please, no! Not zat, not again," as Chekov begged, Sulu howled in mindless rage, "Keptian, please do not? Hikaru, Sir, make it stop."

"Oh, sweetheart, that's not his call," she crooned, licking the crimson stained flesh below his right shoulder blade, causing him to shiver. "Whom do you belong to, Ensign?"

"He's mine!"

The trembling increased to full on shaking and Chekov bowed his head.

"I em wery sorry, Keptian," he said softly, deferentially, "I em Lieutenant Sulu's."

"You can still be his, when he behaves. You'll just be mine first."

Chekov shook his head, curl’s damp, sweat and tears dripping down his face.

***

She was impressed, he lasted longer than she expected.

She had finished with the young navigator's back, mostly a network of Ferengi, Rihannsu and tlhIngan Hol weaving down from the small of his back, over his ass and to his thighs, where she sketched a Vulcan sestina that poured down to each calf. Her name twisted in a repeated, vine-like pattern, James Tiberius Kirk, **JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK** , _James Tiberius Kirk_.

She turned him around, displaying soft, mostly untouched skin. Pavel hung limply from his wrists, eyes red rimmed and half lidded, chest rising and falling with hitching breaths. His ribs were painted in brilliant shades of blue and purple bruises. He stared mournfully at Sulu through his spiky lashes; bitten lips red and full.

There was also pride in the set of his jaw; he had begged and pleaded for it to stop until he was hoarse but he had remained strong; in his soul he was still Sulu's. The seductive voice had wrapped around them asking, demanding, the words as painful as the blade.

"Whom do you belong to?"

She flowed like water to her knees, resuming the sestina on his right leg from where it wrapped around his ankle.

"Lieutenant Sulu, Me'em," he moaned.

Sulu would have though kneeling at his boy's feet would make her look weak, vulnerable; but the omnipotence she radiated filled the cabin. The script the flowed up his right thigh.

"Whose are you?" She switched to his left ankle.

He whimpered, "I em Sulu's."

The blade danced lightly up his left thigh. "Who owns you?"

"H..h..Hikaru," he keened.

As she finished his legs, Pavel softly chanted, "Hikaru's… Hikaru… please? Hikaru… Sir… _please_? Ni bolʹshe… _pozhaluĭsta_ … Hikaru, ne bolyee..."

It was as she pressed Chekov's aching wet flesh into the wall, fingers caressing the cracked ribs, that an inhuman cry filled the air and he broke.

"We're yours," Sulu choked out, "Enough! Captain. Enough."

Chekov sighed in relief as he echoed in a trembling whisper, "Ve are yours...yours Keptain...yours..."

Kirk's smile was liquid triumph as she looked across the room at Sulu. He had collapsed in the chair, griping its arms, eyes black holes that drank in madness.

"Again." The razor sharp tip of her blade at the delicate skin papering Chekov's Adam's apple pulled Mandarin characters from his skin as he held his breath, not swallowing, throat arched in submission; a hanging statue of defeat.

"He's yours," whispered Sulu, "I'm yours."

"Again." The characters flowing into Cyrillic as her dagger moved to his collarbones. Sulu tried not to be impressed, but she wielded its sharpness like a calligrapher's brush. She was better than he was; possibly even better than Chekov.

"We belong to you," was echoed by Pavel's soft, "Kierk's."

He noted her technique against his will. Next time he had his boy alone, he would have to try— but no... Pavel was no longer his boy. He was Kirk's. They both were.

"I'll never get tired of hearing that. Continue."

"Yes, Ma'am." Sulu took a deep breath, "You own us. We're yours. Please, Captain. Please stop."

"Not quite yet. I always finish what I start. And you had mentioned something about fucking, flaying, and then fucking?"

_Oh, God_. He shuddered, choking back his bile, and his voice wavered, "Please, please ma'am, take me. Let him down and take me."

The blood on Chekov's arms had dried, but as she twisted him left and right, examining her work, the words cracked and dripped, obscenely beautiful against the pale torn flesh. Pavel wept brokenly.

She lifted the blade and swept her eyes over Sulu's wretched form. He was almost complete, but she needed to rekindle his spark; his fury.

"Maybe if you beg nicely."

His eyes squeezed shut as she moved down the creamy, freckled abs.

"Please, take me. Let him down, and take me. Please Captain." Damn. He was far enough gone that she was going to have to do something drastic.

"I will do anything. Be anything. I am yours. Please, ma'am. _Please_?"

"Do you really mean that, Lieutenant?"

" _Anything_." Nothing she could want of him would be worse than watching her fuck Pavel, making him bleed from her claim.

She stepped back. She was mostly finished. Just one off center patch, her name outlining the Ensign’s heart.

She strode over to her helmsman and hovered behind him. He felt the cold brush of the agonizer at his neck and the cuffs sank back into the chair. "Up."

He swallowed as he stood, shaking. His heart raced as she herded him over to the barely conscious youth.

"One left. Finish it."

"What!?" The shock had his hand on his own dagger before he remembered the agonizer pressed into his skin. "No!"

Much better! It was a calculated risk, she wanted to break him down and re-forge him; not destroy him. When she was done she would have to be constantly aware that he was a double edged sword, but he would be _her_ sword.

"Here," she outlined the space beneath ‘ _Этот мальчик принадлежит к Джеймс Тиберий Кирк_ ’, "In your own hand, with your own blade. 'Property of James Tiberius Kirk'. I think Standard would look nice, but I am nothing if not generous. Choose whatever language you wish."

"No. Not this," his voice was hollow with wrath as he ground out, "please."

She turned him, cool metal of the agonizer at his throat. The point of her dagger, held in the delicate grip of her left hand, nicked the skin above his right eyebrow.

"You will," she said calmly, the syllables crashing in his ears like waves on a barren coast as she split his flesh, ice then fire down the right side of his face. He let the pain roll through his body, not near penance enough for what Pavel had taken for him, "Or I'll take your eyes and you'll do it blind."

He snarled, opening his wound further and for an immeasurable moment he debated making a play for her. She’d probably kill him or, if he was really lucky, he might kill her; and either way this would end on his terms. The agonizer caressing his throat like a lover was an unwelcome reality check.

He placed the tip of his blade against the last expanse of unmarked skin and had to pull back; he was trembling too much to cut evenly. If he thought he could drive the dagger in to the hilt before she stopped him he might. Better the Pavel dead than taken so completely by another.

"Please, my Lady," his wrecked voice softly pleaded, baring his soul, pain and hate ringing through it like a bell, "I can't."

Pavel was hanging onto consciousness by a thread, slivers of glasz shimmered through his spiked eyelashes, the normally bright blue-green deaden to a narrow band of slate blue around blown pupils. He dangled lifelessly from his wrists, shallow breaths rasping his raw throat.

"I'll help you," she said from behind his right shoulder. The weight of the agonizer disappeared and he tensed; but now was not the time. Later, when circumstances favored him. He would wait and store each injury, each slight. From this day forward every time he looked at Pavel and saw the ruin of his flesh, the terrible beauty of Kirk's damage, he would strengthen his resolve and plot his revenge. For now, he was too weak to be more than her unwilling puppet. Her slim fingers wrapped gently around his grip on the hilt, guiding his blade to the last of Pavel's virginity.

Once he started his hand steadied and she let go, stepping back to watch, a mad voyeur in the asylum of the damned.

Pavel stared lifelessly and Sulu murmured wordless sounds of comfort. With the last stroke he rested his forehead against the boy's; he felt Pavel slip fully into sweet unconsciousness, insensible to the world of pain that cocooned him. Sulu dropped his blade and collapsed to his knees as exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.

Pavel was the only one she had raped so far, but she had violated them both so fully, his mind was trying to wrap around all that had happened the last several hours. And the ordeal wasn't over yet, only she could say what would happen next.

What would come would come. Surely she would grow bored eventually and they could try to recuperate. After all, there were more than four hundred other souls on board for her to torment.

He heard movement behind him and then the soft blanket from her bed was across his kneels. He looked up to see the chains binding Pavel slowly descend; as the manacles unlocked Sulu gathered the slight form into his arms, wrapping him in the fleece.

"You did well," she praised, "both of you. Take him to Medical, they can heal you both."

He looked up, startled, "Ma'am?"

"You may have him back for now; so long as you keep in mind that I can just as easily take him away."

He made his way slowly to his feet, cradling Pavel to his chest.

"Yes, Ma'am," his voice was a curious mixture: grateful and defiant, anger and pride.

"Lieutenant." she said sharply, "pick one to scar. I am partial to one in Standard, but I will leave it up to you."

He hugged his boy to his chest, shoulders tense, and then he nodded once before heading to the outer door.

***

[redacted]

Really unhappy with the last bit. Reworking it to see if it can be salvaged. Let this be a warning kids, don't post while in the midst of a sleep deprived hallucination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, my half assed research puts the Federation timeline's unofficial first contact with the Ferengi in 2151 and first official contact in 2364. The Terran Empire in this 'verse is expansionistic enough that I'm OK playing fast and loose with time and space.
> 
> Who am I kidding? I always like to play fast and loose with time and space. It might be why time and space are not my biggest fans.
> 
> I also figured if the Ferengi have 178 words for rain, it isn't a stretch for them to have twice that many for ownership. Also, it really is a visually gorgeous language: http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20060130151036/memoryalpha/en/images/a/ab/Ferengi_script.gif
> 
> The Russian is courtesy of the Google translator. Please correct me if it is off. 
> 
> Ni bolʹshe… pozhaluĭsta… Hikaru, ne bolyee...  
> No more… please… Hikaru, no more...
> 
> Этот мальчик принадлежит к Джеймс Тиберий Кирк  
> This boy belongs to James Tiberius Kirk
> 
> And the quote at the end is from Robert Frost: The strongest and most effective force in guaranteeing the long-term maintenance of power is not violence in all the forms deployed by the dominant to control the dominated, but consent in all the forms in which the dominated acquiesce in their own domination.


End file.
